


As Captain

by MaryAnne615



Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-28
Updated: 2015-06-28
Packaged: 2018-04-06 17:00:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4229751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaryAnne615/pseuds/MaryAnne615
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Found more of my old Voyager Fanfic!</p>
<p>It's New Year's Eve aboard the USS Voyager and Captain Kathryn Janeway has decided she wants to finally make love with her handsome First Officer, Chakotay.  But, as usual, things get in the way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	As Captain

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tayryn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tayryn/gifts), [saye0036](https://archiveofourown.org/users/saye0036/gifts).



Janeway

I’m pretty sure I knew what I was getting into when I announced at the staff meeting that on Wednesday night there would be a celebration on Holodeck 1. Well, Holodecks 1 and 2, the surrounding hallways and anywhere else within arms reach that people would choose to party. For the first time since Voyager was lost in the DQ, I decided that I wanted to celebrate New Year’s Eve. I wanted to have a big bash, complete with a jazz band, lots of balloons and confetti, and, of course, alcohol. 

I also wanted to get kissed at midnight. 

The idea went over well with the crew, especially Tom Paris, who had the whole thing planned before the end of that particular staff meeting. He spent the better part of the day creating a holoprogram that would grant me any wish that I desired. Within 12 hours of the meeting, the only thing left for me to do was replicate a dress and find a date. 

“Chakotay, do you have a date for tomorrow’s party?” I’m asking this of my first officer between bites of veggie stew in the mess hall. Or maybe it’s not veggie stew. Neelix has been creative again. Sometimes I hate finding uninhabited planets and sending in Away Teams. I’ve run out of excuses why Neelix shouldn’t be allowed on these planets and I’m pretty sure the crew hates me for that. And, as captain, I must eat this food, otherwise the crew wouldn’t. 

“No, I was waiting for someone to ask me.” His black eyes are twinkling at me and the corners of his mouth uplift into a smile.

“Well, would you like to go with me?” 

“I would be honored.”

And that was the end of problem number two. Problem number one was a little more difficult to deal with. I had the perfect material for a dress: A bolt of emerald-green material that I had picked up on a distant planet. The bargaining with the shop owner had been easy enough…I replicated my favorite book of poems into his language and offered it to him. I walked out of that shop with both of us smiling.

But I wasn’t quite sure what type of dress to make. I did have a certain reputation to upkeep, as captain of this vessel. I couldn’t exactly be seen running around (even at a New Year’s Eve party) in a skintight dress cut up to there. No, I wanted to wear something tasteful, yet slightly alluring. Yes, a captain is allowed to be alluring, I’m sure. But maybe I should check the Starfleet manuals anyway. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It’s zero hour and my hand is shaking as I press the chime to Chakotay’s quarters. My dress is a masterpiece. It’s floor-length but a little snug around my legs, hips, waist and breasts. My shoulders are bare with the thinnest of straps holding the bodice in place. The back is low-cut, below the length of my former ponytail. 

What’s left of that former ponytail is now a chignon at the base of my neck. Small emerald pins form a pattern in my hair that starts at my ears, moves around the back of my head and forms a circle around the base of the knot of hair. There is a lot of green on my body. Green that can be seen and green that can’t. 

The door opens with little fanfare and I step inside. As usual, his room is immaculate. Soft music is playing, some melody that I don’t recognize. I hear his voice from the bathroom.

“I’ll be out in a minute. I’m running a little late because there was a glitch in the computer program that I wanted to check out first.”

“Nothing serious?” I’m alarmed to hear that a stray computer chip might damage my perfect evening. 

“Nothing at all, actually. Just some false readings.” 

I turn toward the window to watch the stars zip by at Warp 8. I hear his voice getting closer as he moves into the main room where I am standing. Then I hear nothing. Even though I can’t see him I know that he is in the doorway and I have caught his eye. Or, more appropriately, the back of my dress has caught his eye. I know he is looking at the way the material curves across my back, under my shoulder blades. I know that he is looking at where the straps attach to that curve. I know this because I planned it that way. I feel that he is pondering some unasked question. 

Slowly I turn around to face him and I know that his eyes are now focused on my breasts. That’s the path his eyes would have taken as I turned around; the line of material across my back also crosses the middle of my cleavage. There was a reason why I took extra geometry classes at the Academy. 

“Kathryn, you look fabulous.” 

“Thank you. And you look rather dashing yourself.” 

And it’s true, he is terribly handsome in his black tuxedo. It’s a waistcoat with tails and a starched white shirt. The cummerbund and tie are black. I can’t wait to see if he has a top hat and cane waiting around somewhere. He takes a step toward me and then stops. Then he changes his direction and veers off to the replicator port. 

“Computer, please replicate a bow tie and cummerbund, specifications Chakotay, and make them emerald green.”

I smile at his words.

He takes off the black garments and puts on the new green ones. Somehow the computer has imitated the same color as my dress. Maybe its memory chips remembered the material that I fed into it. Or maybe it’s leftover material—I’m pretty sure I didn’t get back as much as I put in. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The crew almost comes to a stop as the two of us enter. My arm is looped through his and I am slightly leaning on his shoulder. There is no top hat and cane, but that’s okay, because the matching dress, bow tie and cummerbund have a surprise impact on the people already in the holodeck. I’m sure that the crew is already thinking that we are a ‘couple’ now, and that’s okay. It’s just one night. Tomorrow will be New Years Day and people will be more busy breaking resolutions than thinking back to the previous evening. 

Paris has done a fabulous job with the program: The 20-piece band is in white tuxes, there are balloons stuck to every inch of the ceiling and there is even a large disco ball hovering over the dance floor. Slowly the crew makes their way to us, to me, to thank me for such a party. It is a wonderful idea. Not just a party, but a traditional earth party, one that has never been practiced aboard Voyager until now.

The evening passes quickly, far too quickly. The jazz sails over my head and the glare of the lights blind my senses. We dance so many dances that I lose count. Mostly fast ones, where I am twisting and turning, despite the limitations placed on my hips and thighs by my dress. I am surprised to find that my first officer has great rhythm. 

“I never knew you could dance so well, Chakotay.” 

“I took lessons.”

He doesn’t say when he took lessons, but I know. The steps look familiar.

“Jazz Dance Program number 123?”

His sheepish grin answers my question. 

Then it’s almost midnight. Finally the band has chosen a slow dance and I am in his arms and pressed against his body. My right and his left hands are clasped, our free hands on opposite backs. As my body moves with his to the tempo of the song, I am thankful that I have a tight dress on because the urge to jump in his arms and wrap my legs around him is overwhelming. The green things that can’t be seen are getting wet.

“…10, 9, 8…”

And so begins the countdown. We separate and face one another.

“…7,6,5...”

Out of my peripheral vision I see people moving together. There are some known couples aboard Voyager, and some new ones, apparently. I see Tom Paris almost sprinting to be next to Torres.

“…4,3,2…”

The moment is almost near and look at my shoes.

“…1. Happy New Year!”

The cacophony of noise is almost overwhelming. Between the cheers of “Happy New Year!” and the band playing Auld Lang Syne, I am almost deafened. 

I look into those coal-black eyes and smile. Well, I wanted to be kissed. I step toward the man I was dancing with and am just about to tilt my mouth to his when I feel a hand on my shoulder. I am spun around before I can react or protest and find a very cold pair of lips pressed up against mine. The pressure against my face is almost painful. The chill radiates from all parts of this man’s body and I know who it is because I have been kissed by a hologram before.

“Doctor! What is the meaning of this?” I exclaim in rage as he lets me go. Behind me I hear a soft chuckling. I’m glad that someone finds this amusing. 

“Captain, I thought you might need someone for the traditional kiss.”

My anger is still rising, but as it hits my lips it turns from evil to giggles. There is absolutely no way to be angry with The Doctor. He was trying to do me a favor. And perhaps he did. As captain, I don’t need to be kissing my first officer in front of the entire crew, even for this type of occasion. 

“Well, I thank you, Doctor, for being so…chivalrous and rescuing me from myself.”

My words are lost on him and he doesn’t catch the double meaning. How could he? 

Around the three of us the crew is starting to quiet down. I suspect that the crowd will begin to thin out quickly as couples seek the privacy of their own quarters. I can feel the sexual energy in the air. I also know that no one will leave until the captain does. I motion for the band to begin playing. I turn toward Chakotay and place my hands in the air between us, a signal that I would like to dance a while longer. I will be the first to leave. But, then again, I can’t abandon my own party at the climax. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

His hand has been on my back since we left the dance floor. As I step into my own living room I feel him step away. I keep going to the table and throw down the party favors I accumulated: the pointy hat, the noisemaker, the glitter-covered mask with a large white feather sticking out of it. I turn back to him. I’m not sure what to say anymore. I had only mentally planned the evening up to midnight. Now I’m playing without a script, cue cards or even tape to mark where I need to stand. And I was never that good at improvisation.

“I don’t suppose we could pretend it’s midnight again, could we?” 

His eyes are twinkling again and I can’t resist that smile.

“I think it’s bad luck. We might have to wait until next year.”

He pretends to groan and be in pain. He places his hands over his heart and frowns.

“I’m not sure I can wait that long.”

As he’s speaking, he’s stepping closer to me. What was originally 10 feet of space quickly becomes seven, then five, and then one. My heart is beating so loudly I’m sure that internal sensors are flashing a warning signal somewhere on the bridge. He is about to finish what I had started three days ago in that damned staff meeting. Trouble is, I’m not so sure this is what I wanted. 

But I’m not backing away from him. It’s too hard to move with his body so close to mine. His hands are now caressing my shoulders. His thumbs can reach the sides of my neck and they are stroking back and forth across my collarbones. 

Then his lips are on mine. My eyes are still open and I can see the imperfections in the ink of his tattoo. Tiny spaces in the lines where the needle missed. Then those lines move away and I can see the top of his other eye, the skin bare but tan, the eyebrow thick and black. I start to respond to the pressure of his lips. I want to step closer to him, but I can’t. He is my first officer.

I back away and out of his grasp as those two words sink into my brain. Instantly I see his reaction: negative, hard, cold. He steps back, angry. He rubs his mouth with the back of his hand, as if to wipe off anything I might have left there. I see him do this action all the time, it’s as much of him as me standing with my hands on my hips. But still I think he is trying to take back this moment we just shared. And I can’t blame him. 

“I’m sorry, Kathryn. I guess I just got lost in the moment.” His words are calm but I still see the storm below the surface. He is seething. And it’s making me mad. 

I start to open my mouth to respond, to say something, but he cuts me off. He wants his say. Perhaps it’s the alcohol he drank, or perhaps it’s the proverbial straw. Perhaps he’s just frustrated.

“Of course, I should have expected this.”

Now I can respond.

“What? Expect what?”

“You to pull away from me. You run so hot and cold with me, Kathryn, and I never know what to expect from you. So, I just decided to see what you wanted. I guess I know now.”

He has no idea how wrong he is.

“You don’t know what I want.”

“You’re right, I don’t. Because you only let me in when you need me. You push me away when you figure things out and pull me back in at your convenience.”

I’m desperate for a script now. I knew that we would have this conversation eventually, but I wasn’t planning on it right now. This evening was fast going to hell and I couldn’t even blame Tom Paris.

“You don’t know what I want,” I repeat.

But he didn’t hear me. He was too focused on letting me know how he felt.

“You just act like you’re the only person involved here, you don’t care what I want. Kathryn, I only want to make you happy, to get to know you a little better and…”

I barge into his words now because we both want the same thing.

“Do you think I enjoy this? Do you think I want things to be this way? That I can’t get close to you? Do you want to hear what I really, really, want more than anything in the universe?” My hands are firmly planted on my hips and he runs the back of his hand over his mouth. These movements are too ingrained in our psyche to ever let go of them.

But his voice is soft now. I have fully captured his attention. 

“What, Kathryn? Tell me.”

But I’m still angry and my voice is still two decibels and one octave above normal. He’s not getting off that easy.

“I want nothing more than to wake up tomorrow morning in my bed, in your arms.” There, I’ve said it. Something we both have known for years but could never, ever admit to one another. Until now, until that moment when there were no holds barred, nothing to lose. 

My words stop him cold. I’m pretty sure that they are the last 16 words he expected to hear his captain say. A complete admittance of the truth, a declaration from the soul. Now he knows that I want to press my naked body against his and feel him inside me. That’s what I meant with that statement and I know that he understands that. 

“Then why..?”

“You know why. As capt…”

“Yes, I know, you’re the captain. Kathryn, I understand that there is protocol. But these are different circumstances.”

We’re standing only a few feet apart now.

“You know,” he continues, “sometimes I hate Starfleet protocol, and Starfleet restrictions…”

His words fade out of my mind as I turn to walk away from him. He is so wrong. He has no idea how wrong he is. And I’m not so sure that I can make him understand why I cannot wake up tomorrow morning in his arms. I didn’t take the Conveying Deep Thoughts course at the Academy. I was too wrapped up with advanced geometry, remember? 

I’m at my desk now, facing the wall, staring at the painting on the wall in front of me. He’s no longer speaking, but I can sense that he has followed me across the room. I turn. I place my hands on my desk and lift my body onto it.

“Protocol has nothing to do with this, Chakotay.” 

His expression changes to one that I cannot describe. It’s a mixture of amazement, wonder and bemusement. A puppy that can’t quite figure out what that toy is comes to mind. He leans into me, placing his hands onto mine, one near each of my thighs. I can smell the champagne on his breath. 

“Then what is it, Kathryn? What is it that keeps you from me?”

I want to tell him, honestly I do, but I don’t know how.

“Chakotay, I’m the captain. That separates me from everyone on this ship, no matter how long we are stranded in this quadrant.” I have to stop and breathe. From somewhere I have to find the courage to say this, to make myself heard. His eyes urge me on, and it is enough.

“I’m lonely. I admit that. It’s been five years since a man has touched me. I mean, intimately.” My eyes are focused on his knees. They are much easier to talk to than his eyes.

“There’s not a man on this ship who would ever think about, well, think about loving me. The captain. That’s unheard of, no matter what we have been through.”

He opens his mouth to tell me otherwise but I place my finger on his lips to shush him. He has to hear my story, my way.

“Over the past five years, you and I have become quite close. I can’t dispute that. But sometimes I feel that we turned to each other because you are my only option.”

I can name the expression that’s on his face now: bewilderment. 

“Chakotay, sometimes I feel that I am keeping you from something or someone else. You’re an attractive man, you could have any woman on this ship and yet, here you are with me.”

He backs away from me now and stands up straight, that damn hand over his mouth again.

“Let me get this straight. You think I am sacrificing myself so that you can have some closeness in your secluded little life?” His words aren’t harsh, but they’re not very gentle, either.

“Yes. Sometimes I feel like I have to push you away from me so that you can find someone you really want to be with.”

“Instead of sitting here with you, the captain, and keeping you from your self-imposed misery.”

“Something like that.”

“Kathryn, that is, without a doubt, the most absurd thing I have ever heard.” He starts to chuckle, which turns my cheeks red and inflames my senses. He is laughing at me.

“It’s the way I feel, Chakotay. I would appreciate it if you wouldn’t laugh at me.”

I jump off the desk and walk toward him. As I near him, I veer to his left, so I can circle him. He is watching me, curious. He moves his body as I walk so that he can keep me in his sight.

“I’m not laughing at you, Kathryn. I’m just amazed that you would think that way. Did it ever occur to you that I spend so much time with you, off duty, because I like you?”

“Of course I have thought of that. Many times.” I stop now, my back to the desk. I have gone full circle.

“Please let me tell you a story, Kathryn. And it’s not an ancient tale of my people.” I smile at his words and I wait eagerly for the story.

“The very first time I saw you, five years ago on the view screen of my little Maquis ship, I felt a bubble of anger in my stomach. Anger at this pretentious Starfleet captain who was trying to push me and my crew around. How dare you! That’s all I could think. But now, five years later, I still get that bubble in my stomach. Every morning when I am on the bridge and I hear the turbolift doors open. I don’t have to look behind me to see that it’s you. I can sense when you are near me, and that bubble erupts in my belly. The difference is that now it’s not anger. Sometimes I wonder if it ever truly was.” 

His words sink into my brain. I am desperately trying to believe what he is saying but I am so trained by years of denial that it’s difficult. It’s my turn to step up to him and put my face close to his. 

“Tell me that you want to be with me because it’s what you want.”

He doesn’t answer with words. Instead, he grabs my shoulders and pulls me to him, once again planting his lips on mine. This time my eyes are closed, there is no tattoo. His lips are warm and dry and moving gently against mine. His hands move up to cup my ears. The fingers knead into my hair, pulling small tendrils down that tickle the sides of my neck. I’m not sure who parted whose lips first with a tongue and it didn’t matter. His tongue was in my mouth searching. Mine was playing with his. 

His fingers are back on my shoulders, fondling the straps to my dress. That’s what he was pondering earlier this evening, when he first laid eyes on my back: how easy or hard will those straps slide off of my shoulders? My arms are still by my side. I’m not sure what to do with them. He pulls me closer to him and I finally have the nerve to touch him. Really touch him, not the brushes with the hand on the shoulder or chest that I have practiced for the past five years. I put my hands first on his waist and then on his back. I can feel the strength in the muscles there, even through the tuxedo jacket. Lowering my hands, I caress his buttocks. He moans in my arms and pulls me in even tighter. The straps on my shoulders are being shoved downward and out of the way. His lips have left mine and he’s kissing my right shoulder. 

“Chakotay?”

“Mmmm?”

“Are you sure?”

“About what?” He lifts his lips away from my skin for a half-second to ask this question.

“That what you feel isn’t Neelix’s cooking?”

I can feel his body shudder against mine as he laughs.

“I ask this, because I get a nauseous feeling when I’m around you. But I thought it might be the food. I guess it’s not, huh?”

My attempt at humor breaks his attention away from my shoulders and he pulls back to arm’s length. Before I can say anything else stupid I’m in his arms and he’s carrying me to my bed. I will wake up in his arms tomorrow morning.

Just as he lays me on my bed, I hear the chirp of my computer-generated alarm.

“Wake up, Captain. You must be on the bridge in 30 minutes.”

My body slumps in reaction to the computer’s words. Damn. 

Chakotay falls to my side, his head on my pillow, a pained look on his face.

“Sorry. I need to go.”

There are no more explanations necessary, and we both know it. No matter what bridges we had crossed or problems we might have solved this evening, the truth is that we’re both Starfleet officers. Senior officers. The ship comes first and I wasn’t about to start changing my schedule to appease him or anyone else. And neither would he. I would never ask him for that.

I roll on top of his body, a difficult feat considering how tight my dress is. I can’t spread my legs for balance, so he separates his and places his feet on the backs of my calves. My pubic bone is pressed into his groin and I can feel his arousal. I know that I have to move quickly or I will be late for my shift.

“Meet me tonight.”

“Okay.”

And with those simple words with such a complex meaning, he unlocks me from his grasp and leaves. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chakotay

It’s been the worse day of my life. It may have been my day off, but I am miserable in the boredom. Most of the crew is trying to recover from Kathryn’s little soiree last night. Even though more than a few are in bad shape from a bit too much alcohol, the smiles and high level of morale tell me that it was more than worth the pain. 

But my pain isn’t centered on alcohol. I know, without a shadow of a doubt, that Kathryn and I will be lovers before the computer strikes 6 a.m. tomorrow morning. There is no chance, according to my instincts, of enemy attack, spatial anomalies, uninhabited planets or crew malfunctions keeping her and I apart tonight. I have been mentally counting backwards the hours I have left of not knowing what her body looks like in dimmed lighting or what sounds she might make as I bring her to orgasm. I calculated around 8 p.m. tonight, plenty of time for her to shower, change, eat, whatever it was she needed to do before I went and found her. So at 10 a.m. it was 10 hours, noon it was 8. At this moment, it’s two.

I’ve been at the gym, working out some of my frustrations with the weights. I showered there because I enjoy the heavy jets of warm water against my back. Now I am at my replicator asking for water. Then I query the computer.

“Computer, please locate Captain Janeway.”

“Captain Janeway is in Commander Chakotay’s quarters.”

Of course she is. And I knew it, too. I sensed her presence when I entered my quarters. My bubble of anger/love/whatever was churning and I hadn’t even noticed. Maybe it’s because it churns all the time now and I have just gotten used to pushing that feeling aside.

I turn around. There she is, standing in the doorway between my living and sleeping areas. The blue of her satin bathrobe enhances the tone of her skin even more than her green dress brought out the red in her hair. She is beautiful beyond words.

Because there are no words between us. We’ve said it all. Over the past five years, we have covered every topic, every base. To say anything would destroy the moment. I realize how her presence throws off my countdown. Two hours has quickly become two minutes.

She steps towards me, her bare feet making hushed whispers of sound on the thick carpet. The robe only brushes past her upper thighs and it falls open with the movement of her legs. As she moves closer, she unties the sash at her waist. The robe slides off of her shoulders and puddles behind her and still she keeps walking to me. The matching chemise has a delicate lace pattern that covers her breasts but I can still see the nipples poking through the material. I force the bubble in my belly downward so that is pushes my penis hard against my trousers. If it’s love that I feel for this woman, within the next few minutes I will deposit it inside of her where it belongs.

The following minutes are a blur. First the floor, then the clothes. I have flashes of body parts and groans, but no clear memories. I remember the weight of her breast in my hand, the curve of her thighs against my cheeks and her soft throaty moan in my ear. How we made it to the bed is beyond me. Maybe she knocked me out and carried me. Or maybe we just floated here, high on ourselves and our passion.

However we got here doesn’t matter. She is asleep in my arms. I can feel the warmth of her breath against my bare chest and the beat of her heart against my arm. I wonder if she is dreaming.

I think back to the word that I used last night. Sacrifice. I had to admit that part of what she said was true. On both sides. She has no one else to turn to and really, neither do I. As first officer, I am responsible for discipline on this ship and I couldn’t risk getting involved with someone I might have to reprimand later. She probably got the idea that I spend time with her because I feel sorry for her from the fact that she feels the same way about me.

But somewhere along the way, those sacrifices turned into something deeper. Anger bubbles and nauseous stomachs, just like a couple of school kids. I love her, that’s a fact. And she loves me. I can sense that. I can feel it radiating from her skin as she snuggles against my body. I’m happy.


End file.
